


If I kiss you where it’s sore, will you feel better?

by queenofchildren



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Historical Reenactment, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:26:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6637261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bellamy is a badass nerd, Clarke is a flustered medic, Octavia is a weirdo, and Lincoln is to blame. </p>
<p>Or: Bellamy does historical reenactment as a Roman soldier, and Clarke is into it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I kiss you where it’s sore, will you feel better?

All Clarke wanted to to was help out a friend. And now here she is, straddling a Roman soldier ( _at a family event!,_ her brain supplies somewhat hysterically) and wondering how the hell any of this happened.

It’s all Lincoln’s fault, really.

When she was offered the position as the director of a small but well-curated museum for 18th and 19th century art two months ago, Clarke didn’t hesitate for a second before packing up her entire big-city life and moving to this insignificant, mid-sized town in the middle of nowhere. To her surprise, the town has a fairly thriving cultural scene, with several museums whose directors meet regularly to coordinate their programming and organize campaigns and events together. It is at one of these meetings that she first met Lincoln, the director of the city’s Historical Museum, and she’s thanked her lucky stars every day since then.

They spend their time at every boring meeting trying to rile up the director of the Museum for Contemporary art, Cage Wallace. Wallace is a dick, but since the city keeps pumping money into his flashy museum, he’s a dick who has a lot of sway at the council and a suitably humongous ego. If Lincoln wasn’t there to distract her with goofy jokes or calm her down with a hand on her arm whenever Wallace says something particularly pompous and annoying, Clarke is pretty sure she’d go off at every one of those meetings.

So when a couple of volunteers for Lincoln’s big museum event get sick at the last minute and he asks her to fill in for them at the ticket counter, of course she says yes. Since she doesn’t exactly have a big social circle here, it’s not like she had any plans for the weekend that didn’t involve her TV and too much ice-cream. And it’s nice, because there are tons of happy families with cute children (and a few cute nannies), and Lincoln pledges his eternal gratitude and introduces her to his girlfriend Octavia, who immediately starts chattering away and invites her over for two game nights and a dinner party over the next month. 

So it’s all going pretty well, until she meets the Roman soldier in question – who just so happens to be Octavia’s brother. 

Of course, when she first meets him there’s very much no kissing. There is a great deal of glowering on his part and a great deal of staring on Clarke’s, however.

Because when Octavia picked her up from her first shift manning the ticket counter and suggested they take a tour of the premises and out to where her brother and a bunch of other history nerds, sorry, reenactors, have erected an authentic Roman field camp, Clarke expects… well, a bunch of history nerds.

She does _not_ expect to be introduced to what may be the most attractive man she’s ever met. Or to find out that, apparently, Roman centurion costumes are A Thing for her. So, to get some time to process all of this curly-haired, toned, armour-clad glory in front of her, she says the first thing that pops into her mind:

“This may be the nerdiest hobby I’ve ever heard of.“

And, well, in terms of getting into a hot guy’s pants, that sentence clearly wasn’t the best choice. (Someone tell the pick-up assholes that negging very much does _not_ work, Clarke thinks randomly before returning her attention to the Roman soldier who now looks super pissed. And, incidentally, even hotter.) 

At least Octavia seems amused, which is a good thing because Clarke could really use another friend, and for a second she was afraid insulting the woman’s brother was a bad move.

“It’s not a hobby. It’s a research project, actually. We’re testing if what has been conveyed about Roman warfare is actually feasible.”

To be fair, that _does_ sound interesting.  “So you guys fight and then take notes about it?”

A little crease appears between his eyebrows and he takes a deep breath, clearly getting ready to launch into a long-winded explanation which Clarke won’t mind listening to at all. The guy – Bellamy, she finally remembers Octavia’s earlier introduction – has a voice that can confidently be described as “panty-dropping”, and she’d probably listen to him recite Tacitus in the original even though she’s done her best to forget all about the few semesters of Latin she took ages ago.

Unfortunately, Octavia stops the impending lecture short.

“They do pretend battles. It’s quite fun to watch.”

“They’re not _pretend_ battles.” He sounds endearingly indignant, but since she’s already managed to piss him off, Clarke hides the smile tugging at her lips.

“Oh really? So you finally sharpened that sword?” Apparently, Octavia has no reservations at all about mercilessly teasing her brother, which only supports Clarke in her earlier decision to like the woman.

“You know that’s against regulations.” His tone when he says it makes it abundantly clear he considers that a great injustice.

“Well, if they ever loosen those regulations, let me know and I’ll join.” She winks at Clarke. “I love a good sharp blade.”

Granted, that’s a little scary. But Clarke is willing to overlook the knife reference as long as Octavia also has a thing for brunch, because it’s been ages since she last had a good, tipsy, girly brunch.

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m letting you join, O. You know it’s dangerous.”

Octavia rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. “Please, I do more dangerous things on a Tuesday night.”

Alright, so maybe Octavia may not be the brunch type, Clarke thinks, but she’s definitely entertaining. As is Bellamy, with his passionate defense of freaking _reenactment_ as a hobby – sorry, research project – and his clearly pointless protectiveness towards his sister and his messy curls and the way he fills out those shoulder plates….

Clarke is torn out of her straying thoughts when there’s a sudden burst of activity around them – people strapping down armour, sheathing swords, and making warm-up exercises that look frankly ridiculous, and Bellamy quickly excuses himself to join them.

Octavia suggests that they get some ice cream (not historically accurate but very delicious) and then head to the lawn where the battle will take place, chatting about this and that as they wait for the spectacle to begin.

And when it does, well, the battle is definitely the nerdiest thing Clarke has seen since Wells made first place at a math competition, but it’s also… strangely hot. Bellamy is far from the only one of the group who’s unfairly attractive - there’s the guy Clarke spotted earlier for example, wearing a highly anachronistic beanie with his armour that he ditched for the battle, and a blonde girl on the side of the Germanic warriors who looks downright fierce. So, aesthetically speaking, it really _is_ fun to watch.

Besides, rather than just hacking at each other with wooden swords, the reenactors make a real spectacle out of it, with a fluid choreography and a gripping story which Bellamy presents before the fighting begins, embellishing it with a healthy flair for the dramatic. 

Apparently, the Roman soldiers are vastly outnumbered, but they have sworn to protect the Roman border and their people behind it with their lives, so that’s what they’re doing. And thanks to a few brilliant strategic moves, they’re not half bad, Clarke thinks and finds herself rooting passionately for Bellamy’s little band.

Which makes it all the more heart-stopping when a new attacker comes at Bellamy, a veritable giant of a man, and while Bellamy manages to block the punishing hit with his shield, the wood actually splinters under the blade and Bellamy is thrown backwards. There’s an audible “pop” and a strangled cry and then he’s down.

A murmur goes through the people watching from their stretch of the fence, but most of the audience have either not noticed what happened or think it’s part of the show. But when Bellamy doesn’t get up after an excrutiatingly long minute, Octavia jumps over the fence and dashes towards her brother, completely unaware of the fight still raging all around her. Clarke considers following her, before her eyes fall on a little box on the wall of a nearby toilet trailer.

She heads there first, grabs the little red bag out of the box and then heads back to the battleground, where someone must have noticed Bellamy’s distress and called an end to the fighting.

She pushes her way through the crowd, trying not to smile at the frankly ridiculous sight of a bunch of heavily armed warriors standing around with worried expressions, and gets to her knees on the muddy ground next to Bellamy.

“How are you holding up?”

“Not great.” He still bravely manages to squeeze out a smile, so she hopes that means it isn’t too bad.

Ten seconds later she has confirmation of what she suspected earlier: The blow wrenched his arm out of its socket. Which means he must be in excruciating pain, but he’ll be fine as soon as she’s popped it back in.

If he lets her, that is, because as soon as her hands move in the direction of his mangled shoulder, he catches them with his other hand.

“What are you doing?”

“You dislocated your shoulder. You can either wait for an ambulance to get here and be in pain the entire time, or you can let me pop it back in and you’ll be recovered in no time.”

His eyes widen. “Do you know how to do that?”

“I’m a trained paramedic.”

“I thought you were a museum director.” Clarke is confused for a moment, then remembers Octavia mentioning it to him before. Of course, that knowledge won’t do much to make him trust in her medical abilities.

“I’m a woman of many talents.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky you indeed, because this is going to hurt.”

He grits his teeth. “I know, I’ve had worse before. As hobbies go, this one’s not exactly harmless.“ He smiles wrily, clearly pleased to throw her and Octavia’s earlier teasing back at them, and Clarke can’t help but smile back. She’s seen this before, of course – men trying to act tough and unaffected even though they’re in terrible pain – but on this one, it’s pretty cute.

Clarke scolds herself for the inappropriate thought – cute or not, he’s still in pain and in her care – and carefully takes hold of his arm. He doesn’t stop her this time, so apparently he trusts her to help him now.

"Try and focus on something else, something to distract you.”

“Alright,” he pants, but instead of closing his eyes or looking away, he keeps them firmly on her. When she raises a questioning eyebrow, he rasps: “Distracting enough”, and Clarke can feel herself blushing and getting quite distracted herself.

But she snaps out of it, and while he’s still bravely trying to smile at her, Clarke tightens her grip on his arm and guides it back into its socket as quickly and gently as she can.

He cries out, his hand gripping her thigh just above the knee so hard she’s sure she’ll have bruises later, and then goes limp, passed out. Which is just as well, because this way at least he’s not in pain while she makes a sling out of a couple of bandages from the med kit she grabbed earlier.

When she looks up, it is to see half a dozen Roman and Germanic warriors looking at her with a mixture of mistrust, horror and awe, and Clarke stifles a laugh and puts on her best reassuring smile instead.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.“

Thankfully, Bellamy verifies her statement by coming to at that very moment, blinking disorientedly and then immediately trying to sit up. Which is a bad idea, because it will put strain on the injured shoulder he seems to have forgotten about. Thankfully, Octavia understands the problem, hooks an arm under his good shoulder and helps him sit up. Beanie guy holds out a bottle of water for Bellamy to drink, and Clarke is genuinely moved at seeing all of these people fussing about him.

Which is just as well, because Lincoln appears at that moment to tell her that there’s chaos at the ticket booth and could she please please take another shift? 

Clarke hates leaving her patient behind without making sure he really is alright – who knows, he could have other injuries she didn’t manage to spot – but she _did_ come here today to help Lincoln. While she’s still torn up about it, Bellamy lightly places his hand on her arm.

“I’m fine. Go.”

Marvelling at the way he seems to have read her mind, Clarke gets to her feet.

“Just in case though, maybe you should check in on me later.”

“What kind of medic would I be if I didn’t?” With that and one cheeky wink, Clarke strides off,  almost managing not to look back. When she does, however, she sees that Bellamy has dropped the unaffected act and has slumped against his sister, and she has to hide what must be the textbook definition of a besotted smile from Lincoln’s curious gaze.

One shift at the ticket counter turns into three, and by the time Clarke is finally done, she’s pretty sure she gave reduced tickets to everyone and their grandma (when clearly only the grandma was eligible for the reduced fee). Clarke simply can’t stop thinking about her patient. Though really the patient aspect seems not entirely central to her concern, seeing as only about every third thought is about his injured arm and the others are… about other, not at all injured body parts.

By the time the last visitors have trickled out and the museum closes its doors, Clarke just about bolts from her seat and rushes across the grounds to the camp site. Octavia stopped by earlier to thank her for helping and inform her that she helped Bellamy to his tent and made him swear a “blood oath” (an expression that Clarke really hopes is just Octavia’s sense of humour) that he’ll stay put and rest for the remainder of the day.

At the camp, everyone has gathered around a big fireplace to celebrate the successful day with historically accurate alcoholic beverages, but fierce Germanic warrior chick points her in the right direction and Clarke soon pushes open the entrance to one of the small tents to find Bellamy stretched out on a padded cloth mattress, awkwardly holding up a book with one hand to read it.  

“Hey,” she says softly, suddenly nervous. What if this is weird? What if to him she’s just this random chick who helped him? What if he was so out of it before that he doesn’t even remember her being there?

But he puts down the book, takes her in and smiles – and Clarke knows he remembers.

“It’s my saviour!”

“Well, I didn’t so much save you as patch you up after the fact…”

“And you did a great job.”

“So I take it you’re feeling better?”

“Yes. Harper made me take a painkiller, and then I slept practically the whole afternoon.”

“Sounds like you’re on your way to recovery.”

He nods in agreement, and since that means they’re done with the topic that was her excuse to come here, Clarke doesn’t really know what to say. Awkward silence falls for a few moments, before Bellamy clears his throat and says:

“You know, that was some excellent first aid you gave me before. But you forgot one very important thing.”

“Oh really?”, Clarke asks, ready to defend herself, and steps closer so she’s standing right in front of him. If he somehow stays in her life, she doubts she’ll have such an advantage over him again anytime soon.

“You forgot to kiss it better.”

Clarke starts fiddling with the sling she made earlier, ostensibly very focused on checking if it’s still correctly in place.

“I’ve never heard of that method in all my medical training.”

“It probably can’t hurt, right?” His face when she lifts her eyes from the sling is the picture of innocence.

“No, it probably can’t.” And partly because she doesn’t trust herself to be quite this brave yet, partly because it’s fun to tease him, she leans down, takes his hand where it emerges from the sling, and presses a gentle kiss to it.

“All better now?” She intends to say it like the exaggerated version of a concerned mother, but when she looks up at him, his eyes have gone dark, and the question ends on a breathy whisper.

“Much better.”

His voice, she notices irritably, is far from shaky. In fact, it’s smooth and dark as ever and currently causing something inside her to tighten and ache deliciously.

Obviously, him being less affected by the situation than her is unacceptable. So Clarke takes a page out of his book, puts on her most innocent expression, and says:

“You know, if this actually works you should return the favour. You grabbed my leg so hard before you probably left bruises. Maybe they should be kissed better too.”

For a moment, he just stares at her silently, eyes wider and darker than than ever.

Then suddenly she’s straddling his lap and he’s kissing her as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, only pulling back when she’s already starting to feel a little lightheaded. Clarke only allows herself enough time to breathe in and catch a glimpse of him, flushed cheeks and tousled curls and all, before she leans forward to latch right back on to him once more, crushing her nose against his in her eagerness and prompting a chuckle from him that she can feel reverberate throughout her body.

She could stay like this forever, Clarke thinks, but no sooner has she thought so than she is reminded why maybe they shouldn’t. Because when she rocks her hips into him, he groans and uses his good arm to haul her closer, crushing her against him – and against the arm still tied across his chest in her makeshift sling. He lets out a moan which she’s pretty sure is due to pain, and Clarke gently pulls back and scoots away – only to be held back by the arm still hooked around her back.

“You have to free my arm. I’m going to need both hands for this.”

Clarke laughs, stupidly charmed by his continued insistence on trying to act like such a trivial thing as _pain_ is beneath his notice.

“You _think_ you want out of the sling now, but trust me, you really don’t.” She stretches forward, careful not to lean upon his tied arm, and kisses him softly once more. “How about this: I give you my phone number, and you call me when your arm is properly healed and you’re ready to do this right.” She kisses him again, just as softly but lingering a bit longer to make sure he understands how serious her offer is.

Apparently he does, because he kisses her back so thoroughly it makes her head swim, then pulls back and murmurs: “Sounds like a plan.”

And _that_ is when Octavia barges in, finds Clarke straddling her injured brother… and starts laughing maniacally.

Which is just as well, because Clarke is pretty sure if Octavia got angry at her, she could do a _lot_ of damage even with a blunt sword. Also, it makes Bellamy blush, and that, Clarke decides, is the most beautiful sight in the world. And she should know – she has a whole museum full of beautiful paintings, and none of them can hold a candle to this pretend Roman and his sunny smile.


End file.
